Like Rain
by acciodanrad9
Summary: He sits there, long enough that I think he might actually go to her, but he doesn’t; instead, he slams his foot on my gas pedal and we’re off. Gone. Away.


**Disclaimer: **_If I owned Keith, he wouldn't have died and he and Natalie would have lived happily ever after. 'Nough said._

**A/N:** _So, this randomly popped into my head, and I couldn't seem to write anything (as in the epilogue to _Times Infinity_) without writing this first. I hope you enjoy it as I kind of experimented with a different POV. I started with the italics so you know what scene from the movie has just happened._

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**Like Rain**

…

"_Fuck you."_

"_You just did, partner."_

…

My door slams and I feel myself shake slightly with the force of it. I'm prepared for Keith to push on my gas pedal and drive away. Far, far away.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he brings his fingers so they're hesitantly and softly gripping my old, worn door handle. I know what he's debating, and I wish he'd step out of me; I wish he'd open my door with a determined force and go to her. I want to shout out to him, tell him, _"She'd understand; she'd forgive you. Just don't do this to yourself. Please, stop putting yourself through this pain."_

The problem is, I can feel, watch, listen, but I can't help him like I want to. I can only watch him tear himself up inside and suffer silently with him.

He sits there, long enough that I think he might actually go to her, but he doesn't; instead, he slams his foot on my gas pedal and we're off. Gone. Away.

It's one of the few things I can do for him. Driving, that is. I can allow him to get away from the painful world that surrounds him; allow him to go where he wants to go, even if I don't like or understand it. Which is why, when he turns us onto the familiar dirt road, I know where we're headed and I wish I could tell him, _"Not here, not now, after…Take us somewhere else. It will only bring back memories, feelings…."_

Memories and feelings I'm pretty sure he wants to forget. At least for now.

When I'm parked, he doesn't move—he doesn't get out. Instead, he sits there, his hands gripping my steering wheel tightly. I can hear and feel him taking in deep breaths, before…

I'm expecting what happens next. The punches, hard and strong against my dashboard. It hurts, but my body only trembles against the wind at the force. I'm use to it—to _this_.

This has happened many times before—the time his mother died; the time he found out he had cancer. The time he realized his _time_ was running out.

I've been hit; I've been kicked. I've even been yelled at. But what I know is going to happen next is worse. Much, much worse.

The tears are worse, always worse, because they're filled with that raw and broken kind of pain. I've come to despise them.

He stops punching me suddenly, and his whole body slumps against my steering wheel as if he's been drained of all his energy. I feel his chest heave against me, as he tries so desperately to prevent the tears he knows are coming. That _I_ know are coming.

When one tear finally falls, it drops onto my steering wheel and clings, only for a second, before it lands with a splat onto my faded floor, disappearing almost as fast as it came.

His tears, they remind me of the rain. Warm, wet, and strangely powerful.

More tears fall, as a loud, heartbroken sob rips from his throat. Some tears, they take their time, clinging to his eyelashes, before they finally fall from his eyes and slowly slide down my steering wheel, hitting my floor. While others just fall straight from his eyes, onto my floor. No detours. His tears—they are silent and somehow deafening at the same time.

I'm surprised when, still leaning up against my wheel, he lifts his hands up to grip it. He grips my steering wheel, so tightly I feel as if I'm his only comfort. Which, I suspect I probably am. Silently, he begins to mutter over and over, his voice low, hollow, and broken, "I'm sorry, so sorry."

There's nothing I can do, but stand there, my tires digging into the gravel, as I listen to him mutter apologizes, while his hot tears continue to fall onto my floor. Like rain.

_Fin._


End file.
